


Small and Vicious

by columbine_and_asphodel (onlycrooks)



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: First Kiss, First Time sort of, M/M, Other, Pining, that the Silverado doesn't makes me sad so here buddy now you do, the fact that the Camaro has its own tag is the best thing ever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-17
Updated: 2013-05-19
Packaged: 2017-12-08 17:30:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/764074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onlycrooks/pseuds/columbine_and_asphodel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some people believe in love at first sight. Others, that love has needs time and memories to form. For Danny Williams, it's a little bit of both.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Danny

The lot is massive, the rows and rows of cars even more imposing with the sun glaring off their pristine bodies. Were he in a different position, Detective Danny Williams, Five-0, previously of HPD, would probably be happy to be shopping for a new car, but there are certain circumstances he can't quite shake.

He contemplates the first, slightly less unpleasant circumstance as he leans against his Mustang. Even in something as unrelated as cars, Danny can't shake the certainty that this- the sporty Ford idling in a sea of Japanese cars- is a metaphor for his life: the obvious mainlander among the Asian Pacific masses. Even something as silly as the different paint colors- the gray Mustang dull in the face of the neon yellow Hondas, aqua Mitsubishis and _that rainbow Daihatsu_ \- feels like yet another reminder of how different he is.

At least the salesman, a slender Hawaiian with a large smile who's somehow related to Meka, hasn't called him a _haole,_ with or without an adjective, and that's enough of a relief Danny's managed to remain civil despite the man's flagrant aloha shirt and lack of tie. That the temperature is in the nineties hasn't helped, but Danny knows better than to insult the person willing to help him make his trade in, particularly when that person is related to Danny's best friend and par-

Former partner.

And there it is, circumstance number two, which, for simplicity's sake, he's calling Lieutenant Commander Steven McGarrett.

"'Hello, Governor Jameson,' he said," Danny grumbles as he slides back into the driver's seat, the salesman- _Junior-Boy, his name is Junior-Boy_ \- having reappeared and motioned for him to follow. "'I'm making you my partner,' he said. 'You don't have to like me,' he said. _'I'm going to drive onto a Chinese freighter and possibly kill you and leave your daughter fatherless,' he forgot to mention!"_

That he's able to take Grace somewhere nice later because he's got an envelope in his pocket with two pre-paid passes to a hotel which will even let him take his little girl swimming with dolphins, courtesy of the same man does not make up for his car, guns and Danny himself being in the same area. It does help a little, though.

If the sweaty-palms, flipping-belly and unwarranted concern over Steve's safety and, Christ help him, _happiness_ are telling him what he thinks they're telling him, the crush he's got on his nutjob of a boss-coworker-partner has something to do with that. He's been shoving the feelings down, though, despite the smiles Steve's been sending his way (not to forget- even though he should- the concern over Danny's _personal_ affairs, comfort demanding their partnership and uprooting Danny's life, insistence on using Grace's name for him... really just his general nosiness into all things Williams).

"Ho, brah, you gonna sit there and dream, or pick out a car?"

Glad for once that islanders talk in their jarringly slow, easy way, Danny shakes off thoughts of Steve and gets out.

Junior-Boy leads the way through the lot. He doesn't try to keep up a conversation, which Danny appreciates, just points out cars and general brands he thinks might be appropriate.

Unfortunately, the cars he's got run along the lines of sedans and "people carriers," which aren't what Danny needs. He's looking for a pursuit car, something that can hustle and won't fishtail the first time he takes a turn going over forty. Back in Jersey, Ford is one of the established pursuit vehicle manufacturers, and while Mustangs do get some use here in Hawaii, Danny's particular model isn't doing the trick. Many officers use their own, often Japanese, cars, like the ones he and Junior-Boy are walking by, but if all their cases are going to go like the first- Danny doesn't doubt they will- a small, fuel-efficient Honda won't have the oomp to catch their kinds of bad guys, funny as it would be to see the giant goof try to fit in one.

Put simply, what Danny wants is a muscle or pony car. What he's getting are off-roading vehicles and the Asian equivalent of a Volkswagen. It's driving him a little crazy.

"Look, Junior, buddy. Do you have anything with a little... I don't know, get up and go? Something less 'Make Grandma feel safe' and more 'Outmaneuver a bull on speed.'"

With a smile Danny doesn't trust, the big Hawaiian nods, then points to something a few cars ahead.

"Subaru Impreza, brah. Smooth, pretty quick. Easy to shift. Got some of your 'get up and go,' too."

Before his brain has even fully processed, "Subaru," or considered he's being made fun of, Danny's shaking his head.

"No, no, my friend. You see, the Subaru? All terrain vehicle. Drives through swamps and the countryside. Also, it is very good at making Grandma feel safe. What it is not good at, however, is catching things. I'm looking for a- a predator, okay? A car to chase down and capture things. Not watch them escape."

His mouth has, yet again, gotten ahead of him, which is dangerous, because the more he talks, the more forceful he gets, which he's found most Hawaiians don't like, but Junior-Boy's smile only gets bigger. Danny figures he hasn't just put his foot in his mouth and that it must be the Hanamoa way, laughing at the angry mainlander and knowing Danny isn't making things personal.

"Well, at the back of the lot, I think there's something you'll like. We don't get many people looking for sporty cars here, definitely nobody looking to buy a 'predator,' but there was a trade-in the other day... Maybe you'll like it?"

"Please," Danny says with a bow, "lead the way."

As it turns out, "at the back of the lot," means "cleverly hidden by more blindingly shiny sedans than have any right to gather in one area," and "Maybe you'll like it," means "You've wasted an hour and a half of your life wandering around, pretending to look over cars you and I both know you don't want, even though I knew the perfect car was waiting in the wings."

Danny's too pleased by the sight of it to compain, though, because the car in front of him really is perfect.

"Chevy's newest Camaro," Junior-Boy crows, and damn him for being  _proud_  of himself. "Nice, huh?" _  
_

"Nice" doesn't even begin to cover it. Danny's barely begun his inspection and he's already mentally waxing lyrical about it. Because he can appreciate a good car.

It's silver like the hair at Steve's- the color Danny's hair is going to be by the end of the month. Or maybe it's silver that's as bright in the Hawaiian sun as Danny's pink, Jersey skin. It's big, too, wide at front and heavy-looking, the kind of car for flying down the interstate and taking crazy detours onto ships. It even _looks_ more aggressive than the Mustang, as if it's just waiting for Danny to get in so it can chase someone down. _And. Catch. Him_.

Plus, no one at HPD drives one. Not a single Camaro or Camaro-driver to be found.

Danny's palms are itching with the need to _touch._  The door handle, the steering wheel, the side mirror, something. He wants to get in and do something stupid, like drive to McGarrett's house, march inside, grab him, kiss him until he stops looking so guilty and punishing himself by living in the house his father died in and all he can do is put his grabby hands to use- on Danny, all over Danny.

A soft cough reminds him he isn't alone, and when Danny manages to tear his gaze away, he finds Junior-Boy smiling at him knowingly.

"You know," he drawls, smug, "when Chevy first announced their newest line- the very first Camaro, designed to rival the Mustang- the General Manager said it was a car that would make you feel the companionship you're supposed to find in a good personal car and that the name would tell you exactly what it does... _go._ You're getting that feeling, eh, brah?"

All Danny can do is nod. He is definitely getting that feeling. In fact, he'd like a little less of it- not that it's putting him off.

"There's more to the story, actually." The smile has moved into a full on, face-stretching grin as Junior-Boy gives Danny a pointed once over. "See, when the press asked the product managers what a Camaro really _is_ , one of them described it as, and I quote, 'a small, vicious animal that eats Mustangs.' Seems to me, you two are pretty similar."

Danny feels his own face stretch with a grin, because that's a comparison he can get behind. "I hope it's hungry."

Junior-Boy's still laughing when he hands Danny the keys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A reason to love Chevy execs: The story Junior-Boy told is true. I thought the description fit Danny pretty well.
> 
> I'm a little bit tempted to do a follow up or two from Steve and/or the Camaro's perspectives, but I don't know. It seems a little silly, especially with the pile of WiPs I already have...
> 
> Also:
> 
> I can't- and don't- claim to be representing HPD's pursuit fleet entirely accurately. Yes, they do supplement the department cars by encouraging officers (and paying them a bit) to use their own, and yes, Mustangs are sometimes used. Camaros weren't mentioned- they aren't the choice in New Jersey, either, apparently- though it's entirely possible someone uses one. I wanted the Camaro to be special to Danny, so I didn't exactly do a lot of digging.


	2. The Camaro

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _What have I done? I don't even_ like _cars that much._
> 
> Minor freak out aside, I've apparently decided this is less "what Camaro thinks" and more "Danny and Steve's developing relationship, as seen by their automobiles." This is not what I pictured myself doing when I was little.
> 
> Oh, and you can blame rungirl60 and Gin for this, because they said follow ups would be cool (my words, here). And the Camaros which sat in my backyard for what feels like half my childhood.

It's been sitting in the lot for almost a week and losing hope every day it goes unclaimed. Its previous owner, a small time drag-racer, had decided to move to the mainland and couldn't afford to bring his Camaro with him. So he'd left it behind in exchange for a ticket to the Midwest and- most offensively, even more than that rainbow Daisuke eyesore the Camaro's been eyeing- an old Mustang.

Moving away is fair enough. Leaving the Camaro behind, not so much, but understandable. The tedium of lot life is momentarily tolerable but ultimately unacceptable.

But replacing the Camaro with a Mustang is the ultimate, unpardonable betrayal.

The temptation to throw a fit grows more appealing as time goes on, and as the mid-afternoon sun beats down, the Camaro decides this is it. Tomorrow, it will be free or taking out as many of the smug Subarus as it possibly can.

Not to forget the profanity with the garish coat. Oh, no, if the Chevy goes, so does the Daisuke.

The hiss of a familiar engine- familiar because any Camaro worth its retail value knows it by heart- pulls the Camaro from its contemplation of a tailpipe explosion, because nothing, no blasphemy with an unholy paintjob or even an awkwardly-built off-roader, can distract it from the instant, angry tug in its suspension.

Mustang.

As the Camaro watches its sworn enemy approach, it notices the Mustang, too, is new. And an unfortunate color.

It knows the moment the Mustang realizes it isn't King of the Lot, because its engine stutters- just for a moment, the reaction of prey recognizing predator. Admittedly, the newest Mustangs are catching up, the Camaro's reputation failing, but there's still more than enough power in this pony car to snap up this herdless animal.

When the owner gets out, however, the Camaro finds itself watching him instead of contemplating how it's going to flip the Ford over.

The man is short- he'll fit behind the over-large wheel easily- and he's got wide shoulders, so he won't drown in the space up front. He's got a face like he's ready to hit someone; it's distinctive, because it's rare here. Interestingly, he's _white._ Few non-Asians come to this lot, and given the looks the man's been shooting the Daisuke- at last, someone recognizes the tragedy of that much color- he's not in the market for a family car.

So the Mustang has failed and he needs something better, not that that's a surprise. The Camaro feels a jolt of hope, because this is its chance. It just needs to get his attention.

One of the salesmen leaves the building- the building with air conditioning, the Camaro is sure, which is funny for people who love this hot paradise so much, and maybe that's unfair, but it's not as if it's air conditioned outside or even protected from the deluges- and urges the man and Mustang toward the opposite end of the lot.

It's not long before the Camaro hears the complaining.

"Do you have anything with a little... I don't know, get up and go?" makes it feel like purring. "Something less 'Make Grandma feel safe,'" sets its engine to rumble."'Outmaneuver a bull on speed,'" has it nudging the driver's seat forward.

What the man says next confirms what the Camaro had been hoping. "I'm looking for a- a predator, okay? A car to chase down and capture things. Not watch them escape."

The man's expression, when he realizes he isn't looking at the newest CRV, is perfect. There's no way he'll leave without the keys to a 2010 Chevy Camaro, and he doesn't take long to say so.

Not an hour later, the Camaro's engine comes to life, growling heavily, and with its new driver stroking the wheel, it pulls away- though it's sure to growl a little louder when it passes the rainbow horror, gratified to see it and the Mustang quiver.

* * *

It's surprised that the next time the man- Danny Williams, HPD, ex-wife Rachel Edwards and daughter Gracie- gets in, he says, "Time to get Commander Crazypants," only to relinquish the driver's seat when Commander Crazypants- actual name Steven McGarrett- comes out.

The Camaro takes an instant disliking to him. He's taller than Danny and rougher, with heavier feet- they must be lead, not that speed is normally a problem, but normally is a chase and a goal, not hurtling down a damp road with a maniac at the wheel who's too busy grinning at Danny to pay sufficient attention to where they're going- and hands jerking the wheel unnecessarily hard.

Frankly, he makes the drag-racer look elegant.

When the men get out, the Camaro sighs, relieved.

The break doesn't last long enough for its taste, not when Steve and Danny wind up shouting at each other, which endears Danny to it even more, because the man fights back, if louder than it would like. It also, grudgingly, decides Steve isn't a feckless seat demon. He slows down when Danny talks and seems capable of figuring out what's important and what's just blowing off steam.

He gives Danny odd looks sometimes, though. They aren't bad, but they make the Camaro wonder if he's ever going to watch the road.

* * *

Steve's truck is a Silverado, massive and hulking next to the Camaro, which usually bothers it, but there's something about the way its engine doesn't always catch that makes the Camaro a little less uncomfortable.

There's damage to the truck's body, mostly on the bottom, where anything taller than the Camaro wouldn't see. Not that anything would be looking to begin with, given the flawless paint job and tidy interior- which the Camaro has only seen because Danny parks beside the truck in case Steve decides to drive it to work, even though he never does- with recently reupholstered seats, a nice touch but not enough to disguise the slight bend in the navigator's seat.

Both know it's seen the damage, but neither mentions it.

They spend long stretches of time together, because Steve likes to invite himself to Danny's awful apartment or lure him to his house, and the Camaro finds itself enjoying the quiet, stitched-up presence at its side.

Steve's odd looks start to make sense.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't mean to pick on Hawaiians here, or anyone who likes a Daisuke, Subaru (I do), etc. I just figure the Camaro's an extension of Danny, who made it clear he wasn't fond of his new surroundings.


	3. The Silverado

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The POV no one asked for but you're getting anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains a flashback to a car accident. There aren't any descriptions of injuries/deaths, as there aren't any, besides the previously mentioned damage to the Silverado.
> 
> Did I just make a new relationship tag? Hell yeah, I did. Someone take away my internet before I do more damage.

The accident wasn't its fault, but that doesn't make it feel any less guilty.

_Family of four, the driver going too fast when it was too dark and too slippery, parents wanting to get home after a long day at the beach, their kids asleep in the back. The mother didn't see the large puddle just around a sharp turn, and as the Silverado's front wheels hit it and tried to spin, it began to hydroplane. Knowing the woman was too tired to remember how to fix the situation, the Silverado jammed the wheel and pedals, refusing to let her stomp the brake and relinquish what little control she still had._

_Even as it slid toward the guardrail, the Silverado recognized it had two options. It could stay the current course and crash through the rail, which would slow it enough that the damage from the trees wouldn't completely total it, but might not keep the family safe, or it could try to correct and, with some luck, cross the road and knock a corner against a tree, lowering the damage to its family but running the risk of ruining all the delicate parts under its hood._

_Its choice couldn't have been easier._

_Waiting for its momentum to slow, even a little, grated. The trees grew close, closer, too close, the guard rail gleaming in its headlights, the people shouting inside as the children woke up and the parents tried to figure out how to stop the unstoppable, until-_

_Traction. Not enough for comfort, not even close, but enough for what the Silverado needed._

_Jerking the wheel, it veered off course and plunged toward the treeline._

_Downed branches and rocks tore at its undercarriage, some kind of animal crashing against a door and denting it. More shouting, the children shrieking as their parents' frightened attempts to regain control failed._

_Then a tree, perfectly suited to the truck's need, appeared, leaving just enough time to release the safety belt and fling the father's seat forward, knocking the man to floor, where he would be safer._

_With a final jerk of the wheel, the force of a speeding truck was stopped by the slamming of its front passenger side against a tree._

_The shrieking slowly came to a stop, the mother checking on her family and the glow of a cellphone telling the Silverado help was on the way. It could rest._

_At some point, an angry snort from the damaged side woke it up, but the wild boar glaring at the frightened people inside the cabin quickly turned tail when the Silverado's lights flashed, its horn blaring angrily. It didn't matter that it couldn't actually get up and run over the animal; it just had to pretend to._

_It remained on guard, fully prepared to protect its family, until, finally, there was more flashing, this time from an ambulance. With a sigh, the Silverado shuddered into stillness, tired and ready to be taken to the Yard._

* * *

_Eighteen months later, it wakes up. Its body aches, the damage from the crash still throbbing, but there's a man behind the wheel. He's got a frown and dark circles under his eyes. He looks unhealthy and doesn't speak so much as demand._

_His name is Steve, and for some reason, he buys the barely-fixed Silverado._

* * *

The truck sighs, catching the sound of the Camaro's groan. The men are shouting at each other. Again. 

Danny has a hand on Steve's arm as he tows him around the parking lot, pointing things out, and Steve is doing his best to get the little man going even more. It's sharper than their usual arguing, a little more serious, but neither's bleeding yet, so the Silverado isn't too concerned. At least they're moving, which will get the argument to end faster. Most days, the men's bickering makes the truck want to hit the brakes and kick them out until they respect the peace of its cabin. Today, however, they're already outside, and it _is_ a little soothing.

The way Danny tenses and forces himself to relax, only to tense up again, reminds the Silverado of the car beside it. They're both loud and growly, and it would be impossible not to notice either, even in a crowd. They're also a little showy, something about them demanding attention.

"- focus, Steven! I'm speaking to you, am I not?"

The Camaro doesn't speak to the Silverado like that, but it can always tell when the truck's attention wanders, which is kind of cute.

Steve calls Danny that when he's alone. He talks to himself now, a habit he's picked up from Danny. He has conversations with Danny, usually little things that don't last more than a few seconds, but there are times, they're long and last from one end of the island to the other. Almost always, they're about cases, Steve going over evidence he can't make sense of or marveling at a connection Danny made faster than anyone else. He underestimates his partner a lot, and it rankles the Silverado, because Danny and the Camaro are solid, good at what they do and good to Steve, no matter how often they complain about his driving.

The Silverado will be getting close to knocking Steve one when the man will have a not-conversation, and it will have to forgive him, because Steve is more broken than he looks. He needs his team, but he clings to Danny and keeps trying to tell him something.

"Danno, I-"

"You know, partner, if it weren't for you-"

"When I said it's a term of endearment, I meant it. More that that, actually."

"Come over?"

"I need-"

"Please?"

"Hey, Danno. I don't know if you noticed- No, I know you have eyes and that you're a detective. I meant..."

Most of the time, he winds up growling and smacking the wheel- a habit the Silverado plans to break one day, because it's inconsiderate and only gets worse the longer Steve can't say what he wants.

He looks at his phone at every red light and stop sign, as if his partner would know to call. Which he doesn't, because the Camaro says Danny does the same thing.

When he can't figure out how to say what he wants and doesn't hear from his partner, Steve sighs, then slumps and murmurs Danny's name. He's been doing it less and less frequently, which worries the Silverado, because it knows that means Steve's going to give up. He can't give up, though. The Camaro doesn't get enough time off as it is. It's built to speed around, but even it likes- _loves_ \- to sit in the shade and cool down. That most of the Camaro's naps happen in Steve's driveway next to the Silverado is neither here nor there.


	4. Steve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gahh. So... this could have been done a while ago, but my Netbook had an unfortunately violent encounter with the floor, and what I thought would be a three day fix took about two weeks. But it's back now, and the final chapter is finally done.
> 
> Thanks for sticking around! I hope this is worth the wait...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just want to draw attention to the fact that my fluffy fic turned somewhat smutty and is now rated M. There's also a reference canonical-type violence.

Steve is sitting in his usual spot at the kitchen table, idly flipping through the paper, as he waits for Danny to arrive. He isn't sure when they'd decided to carpool, but he's glad they do. It gives him time to gauge Danny's mood without other people's influence, as well as cheer Danny up a little if he needs it. It doesn't take much, just a nudge or a few turns taken too quickly. Steve prefers the former, so he makes an effort to do the latter. He can't help but indulge sometimes, but it's all right, because Danny's a physical guy. He constantly touches people and never seems bothered, even enjoys it, when people touch back. He doesn't read into manly back slaps or, if Steve's feeling especially concerned, the odd hip check.

Once, Danny had been so visibly troubled, Steve's brain had made him do something he usually wouldn't even consider and throw an arm around Danny's shoulders. The amount of pleasure Steve had gotten from touching him and feeling Danny relax into his side had made his gut hurt, and he'd realized what he'd just done. Steve's best friend had been hurting, yet what was Steve doing? Turning an innocent embrace into something it wasn't, because he still hadn't sorted out his feelings for his new team. He'd taken his arm away quickly, pretending not to notice Danny's face fall- which Steve still hasn't figured out, but then, Danny's logic is no one's but his own.

That's the usual. Today is not the usual.

For one, he'd last seen Danny the morning after Cath came to collect her promised dinner. Steve had been happy heading into work that day, because he'd thought he'd finally put his infatuation with his partner behind him. Like all their meetups, he and Cath had had a good time, and at some point in his drive, Steve had realized he hadn't thought about Danny since Cath arrived. He'd been pleased, and having that particular itch scratched had put him in a good mood. Cath's happy moans had been fresh in his mind as he hummed to himself, happily remembering how she'd laughed at him for carrying her from the beach to his bedroom, miraculously avoiding Mary- whom Steve had forgortten until that moment in the car.

At least she'd still been asleep when he left. Maybe his relief wasn't an appropriate attitude for a SEAL, but he's _Stevie_ to Mary, who only remembers his rank to bait him.

The good mood from the night before had been enough for him to feel comfortable contemplating the thing he's had for Danny. The tight feeling in his chest he'd gotten whenever Danny was around had to have been some kind of phase, a reaction to someone looking him in the eye and refusing to blink. He just wasn't used to working with someone as outright antagonistic as his partner. That was all. He'd needed to acclimate to his most latest circumstances, and the familiarity of spending the night with Cath had helped set things right.

He'd been so busy fussing and worrying about his confusing feelings, it hadn't occurred to him that he hadn't thought them through.

Turning into the parking lot, he'd been overwhelmingly glad he hadn't told Danny how he felt, because with things making sense again, he'd understood he'd only hurt his partner once he realized it was just a misunderstanding on Steve's part. It might have ruined their friendship, and Steve had already assigned the concept of _Danno_ a place just below _National Security_ in importance.

With that sorted, he'd been practically floating as he made his way to meet Danny and Governor Jameson at the M.E.'s office. 

...Only to be hit with a wave of, instantly repressed, guilt when he saw Danny. It had felt as if he'd cheated on him- which he hadn't. He and Danny weren't dating, never had been, and Steve and Cath weren't either. Nevertheless, the feeling he'd done something wrong had latched on tight.

He's still fighting it, which hasn't put him in the best of moods, made worse because as of two nights ago, his truck isn't working. It had been fine one moment, engine humming as Steve drove Cath to a restaurant, intending to pay back another promised dinner, but when he'd put a hand on her cheek and leaned in for a kiss, the truck had slammed to a stop in the middle of the road.

Getting a mouthful of his nose hadn't put Cath in a good mood, nor had having to wait almost two hours in high heels for a tow truck. Every time Steve had made to distract her, the Silverado had gotten in the way. Backfiring, a door flying open only to slam shut a moment later, the lights flashing, rear bumper _falling off_... The horn had even gone off for five minutes straight when he'd tried to ignore it and keep his hands on Cath's hips.

The tow yard's mechanic hadn't found anything wrong with the Silverado, though, not beyond the bumper. The second opinion Steve had called for hadn't found any problems either. Same with the third opinion. So far as they'd seen, his truck was in good shape, and Steve can't figure out what's happening. After driving it home without incident, he'd tried again an hour later and couldn't even get the key to turn in the damn ignition.

Sure, cars die all the time, but the thing is, Steve likes his Silverado. Excluding now, it's reliable, never given him the kind trouble some people have with used cars that never manage to work right. It's got enough room for most of his equipment, so if he isn't sure whether he wants to go for a hike after his run, he can just toss his stuff in the back and go. Maybe Steve also likes that it's big, keeps him above low-slung cars like Danny's Camaro. (If he'd noticed the kind of ass Danny's poorly fitted pants have been hiding the one time his friend had deigned to make the struggle into the cabin, that's just something he can tease Danny about. Later. Once he's reestablished the friend/partner/occasional-fantasy-fodder borders.)

Which brings him back to the idea of trading the Silverado in or scrapping it not sitting well with him. It's overly sentimental, but he can't shake the feeling that this isn't coming from nowhere. He's missing something, and once he figures it out, everything will make sense.

For now, though, he's got another... three minutes until Danny arrives.

He ignores the customary wave of excitement at the thought of seeing his partner. It's getting more and more difficult to push it down, but self-control is a trait he'd honed during his time on active duty. The service isn't just _go go go;_ it's _hurry up and wait_ and _Attention!_ and a hundred other commands he's come to realize mean _Control yourself._

The problem is, Danny isn't military. He doesn't inspire patience and control in Steve. Even when he's shouting and glaring and his face is red, Steve isn't getting a message that says _Tone it down. Back off and wait._ He hears _Step up Step up Step up._ He hears the sound of someone who knows his name and his favorite color and bothers to remember them. He hears Danny shouting furiously, not because he took a risk but because he took it alone. Danny, whose pleas for Steve to step back and hold on aren't anything like a CO's commands.

He makes Steve crazy, because even when he shouts about how messed up Steve is, there's nothing about Danny, from his straight back to the way he doesn't look at anything that isn't Steve, that says he isn't right beside him. He's an equal, and even though Steve's spent time around other lieutenant commanders, he's never trusted them like he trusts Danny.

Maybe it's because Danny can't bench Steve like a CO but won't obey Steve's orders either either. Which makes things worse, because no one else follows because _Steve_ is the leader. Because he was the CO, because he outranked them, yes, but Danny doesn't give a damn about Steve's rank. His respect for Steve comes from Danny's own judgement. It isn't obligatory, and it isn't something Steve could force him to offer, not that there's anything he wants to force Danny to do.

Except stop writing Hawaii off because it isn't New Jersey. Maybe stop obsessing with the mainland in general. Possibly learn to be at home here. With Five-0. In Steve's life, where Steve can keep an eye on him and make sure he's safe and happy- as happy as Danny gets.

A memory of Danny, smiling and leaning back on his heels, hands deep in his pockets, pops up, making Steve smile before he can think not to.

What the hell is he supposed to do with that?

"Hey, Steven! You in here?"

So much for three minutes. Trust Danny to be early the day Steve really could have used those last three minutes.

"Early?" Danny squints at him, hands on his hips. "I'm ten minutes late, and you aren't wearing any pants."

Steve looks down, and yeah, Danny's right. No pants to be found. Just his socks and a sad pair of briefs he keeps in the back of the drawer as a last resort.

At least while he's sitting, he can hide that his name is on the back in Sharpie, and if he doesn't move for a while, Danny will get bored and decide to find something more interesting, leaving Steve enough time to sprint to the laundry room. He's behind on laundry right now, what with the last case and Cath, which is why Steve's waiting around in his underwear in the first place. His cargoes are in the dryer.

Why it's so important to keep the sad state of his underwear drawer a secret is just another question he's going to leave alone.

The _pat-thud_  of Danny's footsteps- his knee's bothering him, but Steve's got no clue how to handle that when he already knows Danny won't react well to Steve bringing it up, because reminding Danny that he isn't in perfect order is like poking a wounded animal- followed by a bump, scratch and a muttered, "If this is illegal ordnance, so help me," says he's got about twelve seconds before Danny finds either the butterfly knife Steve's been hiding under the couch or the mini photo album Grace had made for him, with "a little help from Uncle Chin and Auntie Kono." He'd rather Danny find the knife than the photos. Shouting is easier to deal with than the sad face Danny pulls when confronted with the mess of Steve's family.

A low grunt says it's going to be the knife, and Steve's already got a foot in the laundry room when he hears Danny's sharp, "This is illegal,McGarrett! You are, for better or worse, part of Hawaii's law enforcement!  _You cannot have contraband in your own home!"_

True, but it's distracted Danny enough for Steve to reach into the dryer, pull out a pair of pants and slip them on, so he thinks it's going to have to stay right where it is. Danny will check to see if it's been moved or not the next couple times he's over, which will give Steve some effortless Danny-distractions.

"Are we going to work, or would you like to go through my drawers, Mom?" Steve asks as he makes his way to the door, preparing to strike as soon as Danny and the keys come close enough.

"What? And risk getting killed by one of the many booby traps you've undoubtedly set up?" Danny's tone is unimpressed, but his face says he's thinking about keeping Steve around anyway. It's a good look on him. He should wear more.

_Hold up. No, it isn't, and no, he shouldn't. Well, he should, because partners should be... fond of each other, and a fond Danny is a mostly happy Danny. And a mostly happy Danny is a friendly Danny, which means he'll smile more and-_

"Booby trap?" He doesn't sound as panicked as he's feeling. "Why would I do that? And since when has 'booby trap' come back?"

"How should I know? Your mind is a mystery. As for when 'booby trap' came back..." Danny trails off as he looks over his shoulder- what's that look supposed to mean?- stopping short and forcing to Steve crash into him, momentarily plastering himself to Danny's back. It's as wide as his own. "What are you wearing? Those pants are still wet."

"They're aren't wet. They're a little damp, but it's Hawai'i. They'll be dry soon enough." They actually are on the bad side of damp, but if he admits that, he'll be inviting his partner to pry.

Most of the time, Danny finds ways to get under Steve's barriers on his own, but he's careful about it, distracting Steve so he doesn't see what Danny's doing until it's too late. Admitting he's put on a pair of wet pants would be handing Danny a brand name _Steve-barrier-breaking shovel_. It would be like a child at an all you can eat buffet, with Steve's _feelings_ as dessert.

Time to move Danny's attention somewhere else.

"Well? Do you have a way to dry my pants that's better than a dryer, or are we going to work?" Not the best of distractions, but a challenge is a challenge, and Danny is Danny. Steve's just got to get a grip and stop making things out of nothing.

Danny gives him a long look but turns and saunters to the Camaro, wiggling the keys as he goes.

"I hope you're ready for a long day of paperwork, Steve, because I've got plans. You're going to learn to do more than sign that pathetic 'signature' you've been doing. Yeah, I noticed that. A surprisingly nice capital s for Steven followed by some squiggles and something that cannot be McGarrett does not constitute an acceptable signature. It's a step above the x I'd been sure you'd settle for, though..."

* * *

"What if you flick the button?"

Steve tries not to roll his eyes, but this is the fourth time in not enough minutes Danny's asked that question. It's not even a _good_ one. "The button" could be any of the multitude on the Camaro, and Steve hates that kind of inaccuracy. Yes, he knows which one Danny means, but in the field, a few seconds figuring out what Danny's trying to say could kill them. The best way to ensure ease of communication on a case is to use the same language in everyday conversations. Not that Danny would ever give up his _meandering_ speech, or that Steve's pushing hard. Or mentioned it. They would have to include Chin and Kono, of course, who are busy as it is, and there haven't been any problems thus far, so the rambling can stay for a while.

The affection he feels for his partner's odd way of talking is enough to push Steve firmly back into annoyed.

"Oh, you mean the lock- that button?" he asks, faux sweet. "The one I've _been_ flicking? Wait a minute. I think I was trying to keep us locked in by accident. Sorry, Dann- Oh, would you look at that? No, I wasn't."

"Not appreciating the sarcasm, babe." Danny sounds more unhappy than Steve. "I'm concerned, all right? It's, what? A hundred something degrees out? High humidity? And we're trapped in my car in your driveway. We can't even start the engine, let alone put the windows down."

Just like that, Danny's forgiven. His voice is breathy and fear-soft, and his hands are twitching where they grip his knees. Steve knows he's thinking about Grace and making himself worry more, because Danny's the kind of person who drives and upsets himself by going over every negative situation possible.

"We'll be fine, D. Chin and Kono know we're supposed to be on our way, and we've both left them messages. They'll get us out as soon as they check their phones." He's going for reassuring, but Steve's beginning to catch Danny's concern. They don't have anything to drink, and trying to force the doors and windows out had only led to Steve crunching an ankle and Danny bruising a wrist.

Danny doesn't answer, and Steve doesn't press.

* * *

"Come again, McGarrett?"

He'd rather not, but Danny's got a hand to his ear and the beginnings of the frown that means he's weighing risk versus reward of hitting Steve. It wouldn't be the first time if he chooses reward and certainly not anything Steve couldn't handle, but there's no need to hurry up the process of frying to death. _  
_

Giving in's the better choice, then. "I said, 'Not again.'"

"Actually, you mumbled it. But that's beside the point. I'd much rather hear about this 'again' business." There's the tone that says the reward is looking like it would be worth it.

"My truck's acting up, okay?" Steve sighs. "I went to pick Cath up-" Danny twitches slightly but doesn't stop glaring at him, "- the other night, but we were still on the way to dinner when things got weird."

"Define weird." At least violence seems less likely, though the squinting and careful tone mean Danny isn't fully prepared to be understanding.

"Well, it stopped in the middle of the road. And while we waited for the tow truck to get us, it did things it shouldn't have. If it wasn't the doors flying open and shut, it was the horn going off or the wipers nearly snapping off... No one can figure out what's going on. They all said it's in good condition."

"Maybe it's haunted."

Steve counts back from ten to stop himself from doing something childish like kicking Danny in the shin. The longer they're are trapped in the Camaro, the more appealing the thought of doing that gets, if it will just push Danny's pause button. He's hot and tired, regardless of SEAL training, even after they shed their clothes. The back seat looks like the one from Steve's sophomore year Spring Fling, minus the sequins and before Jenny Cho nearly bit off something too important to risk a second try, and it's making his fuzzy brain blur today and that.

Beside him, Danny is cranky and flushed, sticky skin as molded to his seat as Steve's is too his own, and the car can only get so much hotter before they get truly sick, though, so it's not as if he could do all that much damage by considering what would happen if he had Danny in the back instead of Jenny. Steve's seen him fit almost an entire malasada in his mouth, unprepared to leave his treat behind but determined to savor it. It's the worst kind of pornography, because it isn't really pornographic and won't out of his head, looping and adding snippets of things like Danny's pants pulled tight across his ass and his pink tongue wetting his lips.

"Would you stop?" Danny's blinking at him, eyes droopy and face beaded with sweat, looking more worn out than angry.

"Stop what? Thinking?"

Danny shrugs, and they both wince at the sucking sound of skin pulling off leather. "Whatever's got you looking like you kicked somebody's kid. Stop it."

"I don't look like I kicked a kid," Steve protests, but on the inside, he's happy to hear Danny talking. According to his watch, he'd been thinking to himself for almost fifteen minutes, which is close to two hours in Danny-time, and that's a concerning amount of silence.

"Yes, you do. But that's not what I'm asking."

"Then what _are_ you asking, Danny? Because I'm not in the mood to hear you talk about nothing." He's lying, and badly. He's craving one of Danny's monologues, but in close quarters with that movie playing in the background... Better to stick with his bad temper.

"Maybe I'm just concerned. You've got the face of a person who's thinking about bad things, and I-... I don't want that."

When Steve only blinks at him, Danny's lips twist. "You aren't a bad guy, McGarrett. Crazy, annoying, smug, probably carrying around enough problems to keep a whole college psych department busy for the next twenty years, but whatever messed up place your head's at, you don't deserve be there."

Before Steve can think of a reply that isn't _But you don't know me that well, and you can't know things I've done_ , or _Thanks, Danno. Can I kiss you, then?_ his window jerks down about three inches, and for the next eternity, all he and Danny can do is stare at it.

Then Danny's flying across the car, jamming his face into the gap, and moment's gone, replaced by the sound of Danny's grateful breaths.

Steve's so lost in the feeling of an actual breeze on his skin, it takes him a moment to realize that not only does Danny have a hand between Steve's legs barely an inch from his crotch, but he's also only one trembling elbow from falling on him. It's too close to what Steve wants to be real and too far from how he wants it not to be.

It feels like voyeurism, memorizing the way Danny looks right now without him knowing, but Steve's kept his hands to himself- not that he hasn't noticed that all that separates them from complete nudity are his worn briefs and Danny's... whatever those are, possibly boxer-briefs but they look like spandex, Christ- and deserves something for that. Besides, who could resist Danny looking like this? His skin's still flushed and sweat-shiny, his chest heaving as he breathes in deep, and there's muscle everywhere, shaking slightly as he works to keep his face outside the car. His blissful smile is crumbling Steve's resolve not to touch.

A bead of sweat slides down the back of Danny's neck and glides down his spine until it collides with his waistband.

Biting on his tongue clears Steve's head enough for him to put a careful hand on Danny's chest and push him back with a throwaway comment about greedy people from New Jersey and what a gentleman Danny is, climbing all over people and keeping the air for himself. He gives the door a cursory tug, not expecting it to open and not surprised when it doesn't.

He'd rather have his hand where it had been before, resting on Danny's chest just close enough to feel his heartbeat. Steve wants to suck on the skin over Danny's heart until it's red and raw the way Steve feels, then spend an hour watching it fade so he can do it again.

"You're doing it again."

The the concern on Danny's face makes Steve's heart clench. His partner's definitely worried about him, and it's good, so good, familiar and comforting. He wants to wrap himself in it or take Danny's face in his hands and tell him how much he doesn't have to worry. It's nothing Steve can't deal with.

He settles for a half-smile and friendly shoulder pat. "I'm fine, Danno. Really."

It has... less than the desired effect. Steve can almost see Danny's own barriers slide into place. "I'm guessing that's McGarrett for, 'I don't want to tell you,' huh? Am I that hard to trust? I know I'm not Navy, but I understand doing things you can't talk about- whether you're ordered not to or you just can't. We're partners, Steve, but that doesn't work if we aren't equals."

"What? No, that's not- I trust you." It really is the furthest thing from his mind, but he can't say he's mad at himself for spending time wondering about licking Danny's nipples and whether his hair is soft all over or just in certain places.

Danny looks less than convinced, so Steve presses into dangerous territory. "Would you stop making up arguments for things you don't know I'm going to say for half a minute and- No, you had your turn. Now you have to listen to me. Yes, we're partners, but more than that, I picked you, Danno. I trust you completely. What I'm thinking about..." He shakes his head. "It's not that I don't think you're my equal. I'm just feeling," he hesitates, but tries for a genuine smile and finishes, "pensive."

"Pensive, huh? Didn't you give me a hard time for using that the other day?"

"Maybe that's why I picked it."

Danny nods, and his forehead smooths. It's fascinating, and Steve's struck by the urge to reach out and rub at the little lines that never entirely leave Danny's face.

He's going to have to accept that he's got genuine feelings- the _I love you, Marry me, Come live in my house and make it our house, Sleep with me in our bed_ kind- for his friend, and it's got to happen soon. In the next couple seconds, ideally, because the back seat is calling out and it's getting hard to separate what he wants from Danny and what he can actually get. He can't even look at his partner without thinking what a good idea it would be to pull him close and kiss him, then haul him into the backseat, lay him out on their clothes- Steve's pants are probably dry now- and do something good. He isn't sure what, but he'll figure that out when he isn't overanalyzing Danny's confusing signals, his lip licking and heated gaze on Steve's body.

Those can't be happening. Danny isn't checking him out, and Steve's just going to have to figure out how to work around the urges to _touch_ and _hold_ and _taste_ and definitely, definitely, shove down on the part of him that keeps asking _Home?_ whenever he sees his pain in the ass, just asking to be spoiled and kept where Steve can make sure no one tramples his too-big heart partner.

Damn it. Damn it all to hell and back, because none of that is possible. He's trying to claim he's in Denial-land, but he's so far in Danny-land, he may as well have kept Kamekona's massive t-shirt and plastered Danny's face on it. Been there, unintentionally fell in love, got the t-shirt, never managed to get back out.

Great. Danny's even invaded his own head. Steve's spent twenty years eliminating all extraneous speech and thought, yet here he is, barely in the Reserves and already he's going soft.

He's had crushes before, and there isn't a single one he hadn't gotten over. Sure, what he's got for Danny is to a crush what pneumonia is to a cold, but that doesn't mean he can't keep it together. He can, and he will. He just needs to stop wondering if Danny's ticklish, and if he is, whether using his tongue to retrace the latest droplet of sweat's trail from his ear to his belly would make him laugh or kick Steve.

"Pretty sure it'll make me tell you I'm not a fan of getting covered in spit."

His neck complains about moving so quickly, but Steve must have imagined that.

Only there Danny is, eyes closed and pretending not to wince as he tries to get the seat to recline without unsticking his upper body. He's holding himself too carefully just for that, though, and Steve knows it wasn't his imagination.

"Would you stop with the face, please?" Danny complains after a moment.

"First of all, I'm not making a face. Secondly, how would you know? Your eyes are closed." Steve sounds closer to childish than logical, but Danny doesn't bring out the best in him. The treacherous part that connects Danny with home says that's not true and crows in victory when Steve doesn't try to shut it up.

One traitor isn't as important as realizing he's just been backed into the biggest corner yet. Steve likes control, likes being the one who decides how things go, the security of being responsible no matter how things go, and Danny's just ripped that from him.

There's no way Danny's equipped to deal with this. He's too impulsive, too hot-tempered, and he's got Steve in his rough _haole_ hands. It's more frightening than the idea of walking into Fallujah naked and alone or his gun jamming in the middle of a firefight, because there's a chance of getting out of those situations alive. With Danny, even the residual shrapnel could be enough to take him out.

A muscle in his back twinges, demanding he take a breath and relax. He's been sitting at attention for... too long, and he isn't eighteen anymore. He's nearing forty and stuck in a roasting car in nothing but his underwear as his best friend decides how best to deal with the bombshell Steve's just accidentally dropped in his lap.

The saying's a little too close to literal, considering how easily things could go from uncomfortable to violent and how much Steve wishes they'd go the opposite way, with him as the bombshell, snug between Danny's legs.

A vindictive part of him thinks that if Danny hadn't said anything, he wouldn't have had to deal with this, and Steve's mood is bad enough to feel a little better for it.

"I don't need my eyes to know you're making a face." Danny flaps an arm at him. "I've spent so much time with you, I know how you think. I know what you're going to do before you do it. Right now, your face is saying you're worried and pissed, as well as how much it hates it when you scrunch it up like this. You'll be prematurely wrinkly, Steven, and not a nice, you've-got-character wrinkly. I mean geriatric wrinkly. And not even you and your otherwise pretty face could pull that off."

"Yes, I could," Steve protests, too caught on the "not even you" to notice the "with your pretty face" or the smile Danny's fighting. "And men aren't pretty, Daniel. We're handsome or good looking. Rugged if you've got a beard."

"What about dashing? Surely we can be dashing?"

"Only some of us. Wait. Why you would wonder about dashi- Oh. Grace still stuck on princesses?" The not-argument is completely forgotten as the thought of Danny's little girl hits him. She looks like a miniature of her mother- he'd seen a photo once, when he'd gone digging in his new partner's past- but her personality is all Danny.

Even if he didn't want Danny the way he does, Steve is sure he'd adore her.

"Yeah, she's stuck on princesses for the foreseeable future. Pink, too. And that's not to forget ponies. She wants Prince Charming to ride in on a pink pony and take her dancing at a ball, so she's got to have her nails painted and wear nice dresses just in case. I love my daughter, but I'm going to need my apartment fumigated soon..."

Danny keeps talking, but Steve's content to be swept along and doesn't try to follow him.

He'd already known he likes Danny's body: fighting the clothes Danny traps it in, coiled tight, so much shorter than Steve but keeping up anyway, and he'd known he likes who Danny is: barely controlled but always careful with people, as sharp with his tongue as his mind, insistent on rules yet right behind Steve as he kicks in doors and makes use of whatever's nearby to get what he needs, thoughtlessly paternal, even his bitter outlook. He just hadn't realized how much he likes Danny as a whole or how much he needs Danny to _get_  this.

Which begs the question of why Danny's talking about faces and ponies rather than addressing the pressing question of what the hell they're going to do now.

Unless... Maybe he isn't? He didn't say yes, but... He also didn't say no. He doesn't look uneasy with Steve so close and them so undressed. If anything, he looks comfortable, which doesn't make sense given they're still trapped in the Camaro and Steve's just accidentally outed himself. So maybe...?

This whole situation is illogical, and without logic to guard him, Steve's mind is opening the emotional floodgates.

Danny is still chattering about Grace, oblivious to Steve's near-panic. The sight of him so contentedly paternal is one of Steve's favorites, the one that always makes him wish he could reel Danny in and kiss him until he can't remember why he's smiling. The urge to do so right now, just in case he really can, pushes aside everything that isn't Steve pulling free of the seat with a painful smack and straddling Danny's thighs.

"If this isn't what you want, if I'm reading you wrong, you have to stop me, Danny." Steve's voice is hoarse, but he's leaning close enough to brush his lips over Danny's ear. "You have to tell me no, and you have to- You have to push me off, because I can't. I can't not want to be here if I don't know you don't-"

Danny tastes like sweat and cheap coffee. His lips are soft and round, and his tongue isn't shy. His chest is sticky, and he smells like it's morning and he hasn't showered yet. His hair's mussed where Steve's hands are buried in it, soft on Steve's fingers as he tries to decide whether to tug Danny closer or just scratch the back of his head so he'll keep groaning long and low, like he does around mouthfuls of _malasadas,_ only Steve doesn't have to pretend he doesn't want to hear more, that he isn't hard for his partner.

The shift is digging into Steve's leg, the usually roomy front seat cramped. It's just uncomfortable enough to distract him from enjoying the press of Danny's body agaist his, but the brush of two warm hands down his sweat-slick back and fingertips sliding just under his waistband is so good, what was he complaining about?

Danny is solid under him and pulling Steve closer still. His hips stutter up, and something gets knocked loose in Steve's head.

He whines and bends as best he can to get every inch of his body on Danny's. He kisses Danny hard, pants harder when he runs out of breath too fast, sucking Danny's tongue into his mouth and runs his own over the grooves of Danny's mouth.

Danny groans into him, hands are shaking as they drop lower, yanking Steve _down,_ trapping him between Danny's legs as he fishes for the lever to lay them out.

The press of Danny's erection so close to his own catches Steve off-guard, but he doesn't have time to consider it. It's a part of Danny and he'll get to it, but he has to stick to learning one part at a time or he'll risk mixing intel. And no good sailor gets such important things wrong.

Danny makes a noise of complaint in the middle of Steve's exploration of dip between lower jaw and cheek. Steve reluctantly pulls back but smiles when he finds Danny isn't hurt, just in need of some air. Deciding keeping Danny alive for more supercedes his desire to get back to kissing, Steve rests his forehead on Danny's, hands on his heaving chest.

"I, ah, I can't tell you that, Steve," Danny wheezes, Steve can only blink at him in confusion as the memory of saying something before all the touching slowly makes its way forward. He'd asked Danny to tell him no, that he doesn't want Steve. In typical Danny manner, he'd had to verbalize it, and Steve's glad for it. Danny doesn't say things he doesn't mean.

"In fact, I want it a lot. You a lot. We should find a bed and, you know, finish this in comfort. Not that I'm not happy with a lapful of SEAL and all. I'd just enjoy it more if we weren't in this exact spot."

Danny isn't quite talking to him. It's closer to the half-mutter he does when he thinks Steve can't hear him- only there's no way Steve couldn't this time, not when he's still bodily pushing Danny into the seat. The scowl that usually accompanies the muttering is missing; in its place is a grin that says he's proud of himself and truly is happy. Danny isn't happy all that often, but Steve's found ways of helping him along. Now he's got another- one Steve plans to do every day, multiple times.

There's just the problem of still being locked in the car. And getting into the house without one of his elderly, gossipy neighbors catching sight of him ushering Danny inside in just their underwear. Personally, Steve couldn't care less about getting caught out with an erection if he gets to spend more horizontal time with Danny, but the idea of one of the ladies seeing Danny like this sends a wave of possessiveness through him. The idea of sharing the glory of Danny Williams, flushed and aroused, is sour in his mouth. Danny will probably have something to say about that, but for now, Steve has free rein to do as he wants.

Admittedly, getting out is the bigger issue. They could, strictly speaking, take a few more minutes and both have their orgasms right where they are, but more than he wants to get off, he wants Danny in his bed. It's possibly even a need now, because he knows this isn't a _Steve-pining-for-Danny_ thing. It's a _Steve-and-Danny_ thing, and that means filling the house with as much Danny as he can.

So. How to get free. How to get-

The door flies open, and Steve nearly falls out. He hadn't realized he'd been balancing on it until the door was gone.

"Hey-!"

Danny isn't faring much better, mouth hanging slack in surprise, but Steve's too preoccupied with the unexpected escape route to appreciate it properly. He's sure he can find a way to see it again once he's got his whole brain back.

"Did the door really just-"

Equally confused, Steve nods. "We should head up now."

Danny doesn't say anything.

Fuck, he got it wrong, so wrong, they aren't going inside to his bed. Not to the couch or even the floor. Oh, shit, no. What was he-

"On the count of three."

"What?" The look of determination on Danny's face is stepping on logic and what's left of Steve's brainpower.

"On the count of three, Steven," Danny says, overly patient. "When I say three, you and I are going to run to the house, and we are going to do two things. The first will be grabbing something to drink, because as much as I've enjoyed swapping saliva with you, I don't think it's enough to rehydrate after this and keep us from passing out during thing number two: getting naked and into bed before I get impatient and do it all myself. Wherever I happen to be."

True to threat, Danny's got a hand in his boxers, adjusting himself as if it's something they do around each other all the time, and wearing an expression that dares Steve to see if he won't just jerk off where he is.

There's never backing down, and there's being an idiot. Steve can take a dare any day, but having to wait for Danny to get it up again might actually kill him.

"One," he blurts, watching Danny's lips purse, and wonders what would happen if he tried for another kiss.

"Two."

On the other hand, getting horizontal means more kisses _and_ no more clothes.

"Three."

Danny just about throws him off as he springs up and rushes to the front door- still limping, Steve notes unhappily a few steps behind, shielding Danny from the most likely set of prying eyes. Mrs. Kalakona, one house down, is a sweet woman but too interested in "that nice detective, the one with all that hair" for Steve's liking, even if he does agree.

Neither notices the Camaro flash its headlights or the Silverado swish its wipers.

* * *

Two Months Later

For the first time in years, Steve doesn't want to move.

The beach is empty except his little spot, the water cool and still and the sun warm on his skin.

Danny's lying half a foot away, fast asleep in the blanket cocoon he'd made an hour ago and hasn't left since. He looks peaceful, but Steve can still hear him spluttering furiously and cursing the person who taught Steve to wake people up by dumping water on them. (To be fair, it had only been a small glass and mostly on Danny's forehead.) For a man living with a covert ops specialist, Danny lets himself get comfortable and stops paying attention to his surroundings, and it's Steve's duty as the person most invested in his well-being to make sure he doesn't get too comfortable. And with all those malasadas, extra cardio can't hurt.

Not too far away, the Camaro's hiding in the shade of the beach house they're renting- one without bullet holes and lieutenants-with-benefits waiting to spring ill-timed surprises- Steve's Silverado just to the side of it. Steve's sure he hadn't parked that close, because while he enjoys riling his partner, Danny's nursing a broken ankle and a nasty trail of road rash from chest to hip and doesn't need to be worried about hitting Steve's truck with the Camaro.

Danny probably moved it while Steve was getting set up inside just to mess with him. He hates driving the Silverado, but he'd "detected" a month ago that Steve likes him in it. A lot. So sometimes he gets in, knowing it will hurry Steve along, or moves it just enough to make Steve twitch about the wheels pointing the wrong way.

A yawn catches him by surprise, and with Danny out cold, he gives into it. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he's still worrying about his partner. Danny desperately clinging to a car door as their guy, a serial kidnapper and murderer, tried to escape isn't something he can forget easily. If the car had been going any faster, if it had spun out when Chin shot out a tire, if Kono and Duke hadn't cut off the exit... He could have lost Danny for good, and it's only now, with the hospital gone and the reports filed, that he's feeling it.

He knows Chin and Kono are worried, especially with him taking Danny to a secret location with no cell reception. It's almost cruel, though entirely coincidental, reminding them that he and Danny could have died in the Camaro because Chin and Kono hadn't had service, but he needs this week to be just about Danny, alive and snugly in Steve's bed. He can't do that if he's worried about ducking calls and neighbors. And the multitude of women who've taken a sudden interest in Steve's detective now he's been on the front page of the _Star_ , bloody and standing on one leg but triumphantly holding the perp by the cuffs.

Steve's still the one who gets to take him home at night, and he has to fight the urge to wake Danny up for a kiss or six.

"Must you stare so hard? I can feel it in my sleep." Danny's voice is rough, but one of his hands is creeping along the sand, making its way to Steve's thigh. He pats it a couple times but doesn't seem satisfied with that, so he gives it a tug, as if Steve isn't another human being who might actually be comfortable where he is.

"Really, D? I'm fine where I am."

"Maybe you'd be _more_ fine where I want you," Danny grumbles. "Here I am, surrounding myself with sand and ocean for you, and you can't scoot a couple inches?"

Steve can't help the smile that springs up the moment his partner starts complaining. If Danny's feeling well enough to snipe at him, he'll be up for an evening of stretching out on top of Steve, stretched out on the couch. It's the perfect position for Steve to spend a couple hours stealing kisses and playing with the crinkly hair on Danny's chest.

But that's for later. Right now, he's got an immobile target and a mission from earlier to complete now Danny's awake and looks like a different man from the one Steve found in his bed this morning, gray-faced and drawn, who'd winced with each step.

He just needs to sidle close, a little closer, just a little more...

Danny's scandalized yelp is even more rewarding when it's coupled with a glare.

"Cold! Your nose is cold, you animal. How the hell is _anything_ cold here, let alone your nose?" His eyes narrow for a second, but he beckons Steve closer. "Come on, Mr. Freeze. I don't share my warm blankets with just anyone, so you better appreciate it."

He's glaring as he says it, but Steve knows the difference between a real glare and Danny pretending he isn't feeling sensitive. This is definitely the second. Steve's scuttling across the gap and into Danny's arms before there's any chance of missing out on cuddle time, but it's hard to be careful of Danny's banged up body when he's as eager as he is to get in and wrap himself around his partner.

It takes about ten minutes and a mouthful of curses, but he manages to get into near-optimal Danny-groping position without knocking anything sore. He's also hot and so sweaty his hands slip off Danny's skin whenever he tries to grab hold of his arm to get those last few inches of chest-to-back comfort. Danny isn't helping, just lying on his good side and chuckling as Steve struggles yet again to _get there, damn it._

"You really are the smoothest dog, aren't you?"

"Why else would they call me Smooth Dog, Danno?" Steve doesn't like Danny's smug tone.

"Irony, my friend. They definitely do it ironically."

He should argue back, protest how great a lay he is and that if he had a pair of panties from every girl he'd charmed, he'd have a veritable lingerie store, but he's finally crossed those tiny miles, Danny's bad leg cradled between Steve's, which puts Steve's thigh in good position to get Danny going later and settles Danny's ass, his favorite ass, against Steve's hips, so he's feeling magnanimous.

Despite the heat, he's comfortably drowsy, barely slurring an impulsive, "G'night, Danno. L've you," before he lets his eyes fall shut.

"Night? It's barely two p.m. Steve? Steve? Steven, what are you doing? You can't be serious. Why are you sleeping? And what is this about love? Where did that come from? Don't you ignore me, McGarrett!"

If he'd wanted to, Danny could have shouted at him, or even just spoken in a normal tone of voice, but he hadn't. He'd barely whispered the words, and Steve wriggles a little closer. It's as close to "I love you" as Danny's gotten. Steve sleepily marvels at the way Danny can say a thousand things and mean a thousand different ones.

For the next few hours, Steve's going to let himself dream about cars flashing their lights like Morse code and winks and flirty touches, a little too warm but more happy than he's ever been.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to admit to taking a bit of artistic license with the Camaro having leather seats (I honestly can't remember if it does, and if it doesn't... it does now) and the bit about Danny struggling to get into the Silverado, because, unlike some trucks, it's really not that high off the ground. But what's the point of a truck if you can't check people out as they try to climb in?

**Author's Note:**

> For anyone wondering, "Huh? I wonder what specific makes the three cars are?" but not really feeling like searching for them:
> 
> Ford Mustang 5.0 (Unless it's the V6, apparently?? Cars are so magical, with all their not-words.)  
> 2010 Chevrolet Camaro LT, RS package  
> 2007 (or 2010, because no one agrees, which makes me feel inadequate) Chevrolet Silverado 1500 Crew Cab Z71


End file.
